Chapter 32
Anita
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L ocation: Outskirts of Hollow City, 35 Deserted Rd.
Operation: Kill the traitorous bastard
There's no way to explain the fury driving into my blood. I, personally, needed to be here because it's become a vendetta for me, and it’ll thrill me to watch that dickhead's eye dim before Ronan chops his neck off.
My father was close friends with Richard's father, who was the previous mayor before he passed away. To have someone like him looking over our city?
He needs to meet death. Now.
The black skeleton ski mask that Ronan provided for us keeps the crisp air from biting into our skin. Bluish-black darkens the sky's canvas, the rain cooled down only giving us drizzles. It's all perfect fitting with our black camouflage rain suits and black paint around our eyes. Undetected, we head to the road that leads to a concrete hill surrounded by uneven grass and rocks.
Our steps are hurried but light, I keep up, although I am injured, I won't let it affect my mission to get inside.
“We have confirmation that his wife and daughters are not on the premises.” Chris cuts into our earpieces when we arrive at the top and head to looping trees, ducking behind a rock that's the size of a boulder.
Ronan faces me, the inky sky casting over him. The markings painted around his eyes and the skeleton mask make him look terrifying. Only his beautiful eyes shine under the moon's glow. “Are you sure you’re okay? Are you in pain?”
“Worry about me after, Ronan.”
He touches my arm gently, but I can tell it's more of a warning. “I can’t. Tell me now. Are you okay? And don't lie to me.”
I side eye Wicked quickly, and she pretends to fix her weapon. I glance at Ronan with his piercing stare, shifting slightly. “I’m okay. I swear.”
Ronan skates over my face as if he can tell when I lie. I’m not. He nods. “Alright. Let's go.”
As we near his home, I noticed a few things. The yard to the front entrance is kept clean, free of any sign that children may live here. Even under the night sky, I can see how well-kept the grass and trees are. How the structure of his house is tall and wide in depth with arches and a balcony on the top floor that I would presume is where he stays. It's all too perfect for a mayor to have and afford.
The first guard is pacing in the front entrance, stiff in the shoulders, with his red and black uniform on with a snake and star stitching on the side of it. His combat wear is something that's not unknown to me. I’ve seen those specific colors before. Same badge.
We each approach carefully, then Wicked aims her tranquilizer gun and looks through her scope while still moving and shoots the man in his neck. No loud noise transmitted from her gun besides his body dropping on the pavement.
“Nice shot,” Ronan murmurs, holding his rifle to his waist.
She looks over at me and winks.
“I could've done better,” I tease. It was a good shot. I wish I were able to indulge in some action, but Mr. Headman decided against it. Instead, he gave me a handgun. How fun.
Ronan takes the initiative to shoot out the two cameras located at the front entrance, then we go through the back, that's fenced and cut off between low, thick bushes. It was easy for Mal to configure the lock, and it opened like the lock was made from a toy. We managed to make it past the unnecessary statues, more bushes and greenery, and a large inground pool with lights lining the edges. And let me add... A gazebo. His glamorous outside decoration made it easy for us to hide, duck and stay stealthy within the dark shadows. Which is why, as we approach the first bodyguard, who is facing the opposite direction of the back entrance, it's not very hard to get rid of him.
“Shift almost up?” Ronan says, as we near the oblivious man.
He instantly turns, startled, and his gun raises, but Ronan grabs him by his collar then chokes him until he passes out.
Ronan grabs a key card attached to the man's waist and scans it on the back door.
Inside the house is larger than the outside. The back leads to a living room painted in ivory colors and vintage decor. Flawless rugs in the middle of three tan sofas and a love seat. Tall champagne-colored vases hold healthy looping plants and intricately crafted frames. The lights are dim, but I can see the feminine touch in the room.
“It's far too pretty in here,” Wicked murmurs.
I nod in agreement. Ronan scouts out the area, his rifle raised to his shoulder, searching for any hidden spot. Then, he motions two fingers toward the staircase. On that order, we make it to the corner of the house that leads to a curved staircase and a few feet away from it is a large kitchen, extra doors, another compact living room, and dining area. It's not the set-up that makes my heart clench, but the baby highchair sitting off to the side of the large island. The frames of him with his doting family that adorn the walls of the stairwell.
I blink away, swallowing the discomfort building in my throat. Out of the many people killed, none has ever held my sympathy, not one, so why now? Why the fuck now?
As we near the top, muffled sounds and a familiar voice echo from the end hall. It goes in two directions, three doors to the left, and a room to the right with walnut double doors. The cool white illuminates from beneath the crack, indicating that's where he is. I touch Ronan’s shoulder while Wicked stays behind me.
“Sights on the inside?” I say into the earpiece.
Bedford's voice comes through immediately. “Only him. My monitor detects he has some cameras planted in his office, so it's best to be aware.”
That may work more in our favor than he thinks.
Ronan looks over his shoulder at us, and we nod for him to continue. With that, he turns the knob slowly. The words behind the door become clearer, much louder. The light from the thin crack shines on us. The barrier widens. His sentences make sense now.
“I need out. People are starting to catch on, and some detective came to my office Monday asking questions. I can’t keep doing this; my wife almost found out, and I had to lie to get her off my scent.”
He’s quiet for a while, then his head drops and shoulders slump. “Right.”
His posture is rigid as he faces his floor to ceiling red mahogany bookshelf with his phone to his ear and hand on his waist. His sleeves are rolled up and a glass of brown liquor filled halfway on his desk. The room is as expansive as the Oval Office.
We’re so quiet as we stroll in, and it makes me frustrated that he's completely immersed in his conversation that he can’t feel another set of eyes on him. Our energy fills the room. Ronan and I take a seat on the brown sofas positioned horizontally from his desk. Mal takes the other sofa, kicking her feet up and spreading her legs onto the seat.
We’re comfortable with our guns pointed directly at him.
Ronan clears his throat loudly in annoyance. The mayor jumps with a gasp, twisting his body around to the sudden sound.
“Jesus!” Once he sets eyes on us, his phone drops to the floor, and he slams into his bookshelf. “Oh, my God. Help!” he shouts, sliding over to a square window frantically. We watch, enthused at his attempt to save himself. Banging on the window to get his bodyguard's attention. Nothing.
“They’re asleep!” Wicked snickers, shaking her head.
The terrified look on his face when he turns to us is priceless. His eyes skate at certain corners of the room, staying on them for a second too long.
Bingo.
“Did you catch that, amor?” Ronan coos.
My head tilts as I cross my legs and smile at Richard. “I did.”
Richard flies to his desk and Ronan tsk his teeth. “Ah, ah, ah. Don’t”
He resorts to shouting again, hoping the guards will rise from the dead and save him. His fear is almost pathetic. Isn't it sad when they can do harm to others only to tremble in vain when it's their turn?
“Enough!” Ronan barks. The mayor shuts up and stares at us with a wavering gaze.
“Do you understand why we are here?” Ronan asks, crossing his ankle over his knee and comfortably resting his arm behind the edge of the sofa and my shoulders.
The mayor doesn't move an inch. “If I knew then, I would have been more welcoming than this. You think I’ll have three goons with masks on in my office?” He huffs. “What is it you want? Jewelry? Diamonds? Name your price.”
“How about your severed head? Hmm?” Ronan responds deadly.
Richard stiffens at that. His Adam's apple bobbing uncontrollably.
I yank off my mask with a sick grin on my lips. Ronan and Mal follow suit. “Mr. Cree, it's come to our attention that you have been involved in a few things that...don't sit well with GenCre.” I check my nails, then look back at him.
“GenCre.” The mayor flushes, the color on his face drains drastically, and he stumbles again.
“You have a second to say everything, and I want you to say it to the camera above your bookshelf,” Ronan says as I feel his warm fingers grazing over the sensitive area of my neck.
The mayor chuckles sheepishly and shakes his head. “I don't understand what you are speaking about. I am the mayor, a good citizen of this city who wants nothing more than to see it flourish and thrive—”
Bam!
A bullet hits next to his head. The mayor shrieks and ducks to the other side of his bookshelf.
Wicked Mal lowers her sniper casually.
“You just shot at your mayor! You cannot—”
Bam, bam, bam, bam!
The bullets hit each book that's near him, and he ducks and hits the floor, crawling under his desk.
“Come out, you coward, or I'll shoot that ugly ass desk of yours.” Wicked aims at the desk while still laying on the couch as if she's watching a movie.
Seconds later, he crawls out with a terrified expression. His shirt is loose and wrinkled; his normally slick hair is wild and disheveled. He rests back on the heel of his shoes. “What do you want?”
“The truth. Speak. Now,” Ronan says, releasing an exasperated breath.
His lips part as his eyes well up, then close. “I—”
Wicked aims again.
“Wait, wait. Please.” He holds his hands up. “It's not what you think. I have never taken them myself. I only provided the names of higher status people. That is all. I never wanted to be involved in this.”
“Gave them to whom?” Ronan’s ask.
He shakes his head. “I only did what they told me to and left the rest up to them, that is all!” he says, deflecting Ronan’s question. “I didn't want to be involved,” he repeats.
“Then why stay and help if it's not what you wanted.” Wicked says, now fully sitting up.
Richard swallows, shifting his blank stare to the ground. He doesn't answer, and I know why that is. I can spit on him right now.
“Because even though you hated it, you didn't hate the money you were gaining from it. Am I right? Or are you going to justify that, too?” Ronan slides his fingers through my hair before standing.
I tilt my head. “I wonder what your father would think if he were alive. I can imagine the disappointment he has, even with him buried underground.”
His watery gaze snaps up. Although there are glistening tears, not one spills in.
I continue my rant. “My father knew your father. And if I’m not mistaken, your father was an advocate for crimes against women and the injustice we face. What you have done is a disgrace to the legacy he built. You never deserved this title.”
His face morphs with anger. “I have done everything I could for this city to shape it to what it is today. My father could never do what I have done. I am the one who makes true sacrifices.”
“No. You’re just disgusting,” I say, standing as well.
“Filth,” Wicked adds on eerily as she slowly rises.
He watches each of us, and he gasps, scattering back until he can't anymore. “Please don't kill me. I have a family. Wife and kids. Please.” He points to the picture that's propped at the edge of his desk. I look at the photo, and I feel sick. A nauseous twist at the pit of my belly gathers in my throat.
“We’ll spare your life.”
Ronan tilts his head at me with pinched brows. I soften my gaze to ensure he can trust me. He looks at me with hesitation, then it disappears. He nods, looking back at the mayor.
Focusing ahead, I stroll over to with a devious smile. “You’ll live if you do something for us.”
Relief shines broad on his face. “Please, anything. I'll do it.”
I tilt my head and extend my pinkie. “You resign from the position of mayor.” My ring finger extends next. “You turn yourself in.”
That relief is gone. He begins to talk, and I pinch my fingers for him to shut it. I give my last finger, the middle one. “And then you tell your wife the truth, about everything you have been doing, all the real harm you have done to this city.”
He panics now. “I-I can't do that. I can't.”
Ronan grunts and cocks his gun, aiming it at his head. “Alright. Goodbye.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Please! Please!” He covers his face and begins to whimper. He mumbles and sobs while his hands tremble in the air.
I shake my head, sneering at the man who's a husband, who has helped create girls who will soon grow to become women. I hurt for them because they'll find out that their father, the man who is supposed to set an example, is really a cruel man who adds to the destruction in our world. Who adds to the trauma and fear when young girls and women walk the streets alone.
Are there any noble men anymore? Real honorable men?
My eyes shift and land on Ronan as he looks down on the mayor, crumbling to the floor. My chest opens up and bursts with something unknown. Something so terrifying that I rub my hand over the area that is now fluttering and contains a quiet ache. It's more than care ; it's more than attraction. I look away. This is happening at the wrong time, but I see that Ronan is that man. He does what's right for the world, he corrects the disorder and wants to improve it and make the ones who were ruined by the catastrophe stronger.
The vessel that's been lost for years pounds against my ribs, and the heavy pressure builds in my throat. Goosebumps rise all over my skin, sparking a shiver up my spine. I don't understand, but what I do know is that I...
I want to stay here.
With him.